


Every move's vital

by Ischa



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Bi-Curiosity, Dreams, Episode Tag, M/M, Sexual Content, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 14:08:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12632649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa
Summary: This was inspired by 'Those who hide behind masks' and goes AU after that episode.In which Jim is so not dealing with his life and rather tries to find out who the new vigilante in town is.“Yes,” Bruce answered in that strangely final, soft tone of his.Jim lost the thread for a second, watching Bruce: his slim frame, his hands, his earnest dark eyes, the soft looking perfect skin. “Rock climbing,” he said eventually. More like blurred it out, really.





	Every move's vital

~One~

“Rock climbing,” Jim muttered to himself. 

“What?” Harvey asked, looking up from a report or the news paper or something. Jim hadn't been really paying attention to Harvey in the last few minutes. 

He shook his head. “Nothing.” 

Harvey gave him a look like he wanted to ask and then just didn't. And Jim was glad because sometimes he had no idea what the hell he was all about himself. 

“Good, because we have bigger fish to fry than a boy being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Harvey said. 

A boy, Jim thought, but that wasn't really true anymore. Seeing Bruce Wayne behind bars had driven it home that he hadn't spoken to Bruce in some time and that in that short – it seemed to Jim – time the boy had become nearly a man. How old was Bruce now anyway? Sixteen, seventeen? 

“Jim,” Harvey stressed his name like he wanted to punch Jim in his face. 

“I'm listening” Jim said. 

“Sure you are,” Harvey replied, long suffering. 

Jim grinned at him and then really started to listen to what Harvey had to say. 

~+~ 

“Detective Gordon,” Alfred said, he sounded and looked a bit surprised to see Jim and Jim couldn’t blame him. 

“I'd like to speak with Bruce. I realize, I should maybe have called,” he said, but he wouldn’t have done that, because he liked to surprise people. There was something fishy about this whole skylight and rooftop business. He just knew it and he had to get to the bottom of this. He had failed Bruce once before. More than once; he didn't want to let Bruce down again. 

Alfred gave him a look like he wanted to call Jim out on his bullshit, but then he just nodded his head slightly and stepped aside so Jim could enter the manor.  
“We're having dinner. Would you like to join us?” 

Jim nodded, because he hadn't eaten like a real person all day. “Thank you.” 

“It's no bother at all,” Alfred replied. 

Jim waited for him to close the door and then followed the butler into the spacious kitchen. 

“Detective Gordon,” Bruce said, getting up from his chair and offering his hand. 

Jim took it. He had been right, Bruce Wayne wasn't a boy anymore. He took Bruce in, as he shook his hand. He was taller than Jim, but then most people were. He had looked into Bruce's file and knew now that Bruce was already, or only – Jim couldn’t decide – seventeen. He didn't look like your typical teenager. But then Jim really didn’t think that Bruce was your typical teenager. “We didn't expect you,” Bruce added and Jim let go of his hand. 

“I know,” he said. 

There was a short moment of silence in which Jim was very aware that he was being assessed and then Bruce Wayne smiled that charming boy smile. “Please take a seat.”

“Thank you,” Jim replied and did just that. 

They made some ideal chatter during the simple but very delicious meal and once it was over they migrated to the library that Jim was by now so familiar with. Alfred was nowhere to be seen. It was just Jim and Bruce. Jim guessed that Bruce didn't need Alfred now every single minute of every day. 

“I imagine, you came because of something specific?” Bruce asked. 

Jim smiled. “You did invite me to dinner.” 

“Yes, I did, but you always seem so busy, Detective Gordon, I hardly dared to hope you would take me up on it,” Bruce replied. “And if I had known, I would have had Alfred serve it in the dining room.” 

“With napkins, flowers and candles?” Jim asked, teasing. 

For a second Bruce looked taken aback. “I hadn't had much luck the last time I tried that.” 

“With Selina?” Jim ventured, because as far as Jim knew Selina had been the only one Bruce had been really interested in. 

“Yes,” Bruce answered in that strangely final, soft tone of his. 

Jim lost the thread for a second, watching Bruce: his slim frame, his hands, his earnest dark eyes, the soft looking perfect skin. “Rock climbing,” he said eventually. More like blurred it out, really. 

Bruce cocked his head and looked at him steadily. “Rock climbing?” 

“Yes, you said to Mister Fox, you were rock climbing.”

“You heard that?” Bruce asked. 

“I know it sometimes doesn't look like it, but I am a detective, I do have skills-”

“You were eavesdropping,” Bruce interrupted. 

“Doing my job. You were arrested after all.”

Bruce shrugged. It looked between graceful and careless like he couldn't really decide what he was trying to project. “As I said before, wrong place, wrong time.” 

“But it makes me wonder, Bruce, was it?”

“Was it what?” Bruce asked. 

“Wrong place, wrong time?” Jim said, he had the feeling they were feeling each other out. And that was new. In the past he had always thought that Bruce had been earnest and honest, now it seemed like he was – not exactly lying, but not saying the truth either. 

“It was, I would never crash through a skylight on a robbery in progress on purpose. That would be stupid.” 

“And dangerous.” 

“Yes, that too,” Bruce said. 

“But you like dangerous, don't you Bruce?” 

“I had enough of that. After – after I,” he swallowed, looked away for a brief moment. “You know what I did. To this city.” 

“Bruce,” Jim said, gently, “You've been kidnapped, brainwashed, manipulated.”

“But I still did it,” Bruce replied, looking him into the eyes. 

“It wasn't your fault,” Jim said. 

“Yes, that is what Alfred tells me, but don't you feel sometimes like you failed this city, too?” Bruce asked. And his eyes and voice had that earnest, nearly childlike quality again.

Jim leaned back in his armchair, he hadn't even noticed that he had been leaning into Bruce's space. “Yes, I do. I couldn’t stop it either.” 

“But you tried, detective Gordon. I didn't.” 

There was nothing he could say now, Jim realized, to make Bruce feel better about the whole thing. Bruce was beating himself up about the fact that it had been his finger on the trigger.  
“Bruce-”

“I'm sorry,” Bruce cut him off, “But I feel very – tired now. I know it's very impolite of me, but I'd like to take a shower and go to bed soon.” 

Jim nodded, already getting up. “I am the one who had been rude, intruding like I did.” 

“No need to apologize. You are always welcome here, detective Gordon.” He smiled, and shook Jim's hand briefly goodbye and then Alfred was there, ready to see Jim to the door. 

Only once he was outside and starting his car, did he realize that they hadn't really talked about the rock climbing, or the rooftop, or Selina Kyle.  
Jim smiled wryly. Bruce Wayne was becoming someone to not be trifled with. 

~+~

The truth was, and he had known that for some time now, that things were getting worse in Gotham. And now this. He looked at the would be thief and knew he had to let him go, because he had a piece of paper that authorized him to go on and rob people in the streets, but it seemed, that someone -like Jim – didn't think this system was a good idea.  
The thief had a black eye and his arm was broken. He was neatly wrapped around a street-lamp.

“I have a license for this,” he said, between grunts that sounded pained. Well, Jim thought, a broken arm would do that to you. 

“For what? Being tied down to a lamppost?” Jim asked amused. 

“The mugging, the fucking mugging man. It's in my jacket pocket.” 

“Was it a police officer who did this to you?” Jim asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He was pretty sure that no, it hadn't been a police officer, his colleagues had made their point clear on that front after all. 

“No man,” the thief answered. “Someone else.” 

“Did you see their face?” Jim asked, because in Gotham it was dangerous to assume only the males were a danger. 

The thief shook his head. “Nah, wore a mask.” 

Great, Jim thought. A mask. They had dealt with deluded vigilantes before. But of course before the police hadn't officially looked the other way when someone had a fucking license for crime.  
“Male? Female?” 

“Are you going to untie me or what now?” The thief snapped. 

Jim gave him a look. “I don't know. Depends on you answering my questions.” He looked around pointedly. There was no one else nearby. And the would be mugger was tied up good. No way in hell he would get out on his own. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. 

“Male,” the thief said. 

“Big, small? Black, white, Asian?” 

“Bigger than you, white, that's all I can say, I didn't really get a good look before he punched my lights out,” the guy answered. 

Jim leaned in and grabbed the license. He tore it up. “Oh, look at that...no license. I guess I'll have to take you in.”

The thief sighed. “Not cool, man.” 

“What's not cool, is pointing a gun at someone who just wants to get home to their family,” Jim snapped and then arrested the scumbag. 

~+~

“Jim. What are you doing?” Harvey asked. 

“Arresting a mugger. No license. That means I can do my fucking job, right?” Jim replied. 

Harvey sighed, gave the guy in the cell a look and then nodded in the direction of his office.  
Jim followed. Harvey sat down, grabbed the flask he kept in the desk drawer at all times, poured some of the stuff inside into his coffee and told Jim to close the fucking door.  
Jim did and sat down in the chair opposite Harvey. 

“Your shift is over and you should be home. Sleeping, or screwing some hot chick and not here, making my life difficult,” Harvey said. 

“I can't help it when they're just sitting there, waiting to be arrested,” Jim replied. “For your information I was on my way home when I stumbled over him. No license, so still a crime.” 

“Care to elaborate on the part where he was just sitting there to be arrested?” Harvey asked. 

Jim leaned back in the chair and looked at him. “I know you know more than you let on.”

“What I don't know I don't have to deal with,” Harvey replied. 

Jim grinned. “Well, why ask me to elaborate then?”

Harvey put his mug down and pointed at him. “Because you have a tendency to get into trouble and shit is getting worse every fucking second of every fucking day. And they really don't pay me enough to deal with this crap.” 

“Can't argue with any of this,” Jim said, sighing. 

“Just go home and try to not get into trouble.” 

“Harvey-”

“And if you should see the guy who's taking the law into his own hands – fucking again – then tell him to stop before he gets hurt, or killed. Just saying.”

“What makes you think I would stumble upon him?” Jim asked. 

Harvey gave him a look of disbelieve. “Because you are always in the wrong place at the wrong time, Jim. I don't know if it's a curse or what, but you know it's the fucking truth and now out of my office.”

“See you tomorrow, Harvey.” 

“Yeah,” Harvey said. 

~+~

Jim poured himself a drink once he came home to his crappy apartment. He could afford better but he just couldn’t bother. Especially now that he was single again. Truth was he had only been with one women since Lee left him. A one night stand and they went to hers. The sex had been okay, but he couldn’t get out of there fast enough after.  
He finished the drink in three swallows and poured another. Maybe this vigilante thing was his distraction from all the other crap that was happening in his life right now.  
He knew that nothing good could come out of this vigilante business for whoever was doing it right now, but Jim couldn’t help but admire the guy anyway. 

Someone else out there wasn't just rolling over and letting the city go to shit. A misguided someone, but they had said that about Jim too. And really, it wasn't like the good people of Gotham could go to the cops these days.  
It was strange and he shouldn't really feel that way, but it was nice to know that someone else – kind of - had his back out there.

Jim finished his second drink and despite what Harvey had said, switched on his laptop. He had all kinds of shit on it, but nothing that could get him in trouble. He didn't want to get the new vigilante in trouble either, so he decided to store the information he was gathering on a USB stick. There wasn't much to go on right now, but Jim would bet his life on the fact that this guy was just starting out.  
Jim would get to the bottom of this. 

 

~Two~

“Detective Gordon,” Bruce said, he sounded clearly surprised, but then Jim again hadn't called ahead. 

“Where is Alfred?” Jim asked. Because if Bruce Wayne was getting his own door, Alfred had to have be somewhere else. 

“Groceries,” Bruce replied. 

“What happened to your hand?” Jim asked, with a look at the stitches on Bruce's hand.

For a second it looked like Bruce was going to snatch it away. “Accident with a knife. What brings you to my door, detective Gordon?” 

“Are you letting me in?” Jim replied, because he was still standing outside. 

“Yes,” Bruce said, looking a bit flustered now, “Sorry. I don't usually get the door...or am so rude.” 

Jim smiled. “You are the least rude person I know.”

“But you're a police officer. I imagine you only keep company with criminals these days.” 

Jim sighed. It was so strange to watch Bruce now. One minute he was the boy Jim knew for a long time, maybe not as well, as he should have, the next he was someone else entirely. Joy of growing up? Probably. 

“And my colleagues,” Jim said mildly. 

“Of course, but it makes you wonder if there is a difference these days.” 

“At least they don't actively commit crimes?” He asked wryly. 

Bruce's lips curled into a smile. The smile looked older than it should be. “There is that. Is the kitchen okay? I was just making some coffee. And there is banana crème pie in the fridge.” 

“Kitchen is fine,” Jim answered, and followed Bruce. 

His back was slim, but he carried himself like a man and not like a boy at all.  
Jim took a chair and watched Bruce prepare coffee with the complicated looking machine and then put that heavenly smelling coffee and a piece of pie in front of Jim. Jim took a careful sip of the coffee and was tempted to groan with pleasure. 

“So...” Bruce said, sitting down and folding his hands on the wooden kitchen table. His fingers were long, his hands nice and clean, except for that stitched up wound. It would leave a scar, of that Jim was sure. 

Jim put this mug down. “I heard about your little adventures in auctioning.”

“Ah,” Bruce replied and just looked at Jim. 

“It doesn't sound like you at all,” Jim continued to press on gently. 

“What makes you think that, detective? Excuse me for being so frank, but you have hardly seen me, not to mention talked to me in the last few months.” 

“I know and I take the blame for that, I should have caught up after-”

“It's no one's fault. You have a life and just because it sometimes crosses mine, doesn't mean that I am your responsibility,” Bruce interrupted. 

“You make it sound like we are almost nothing more than strangers,” Jim said and didn't know why it hurt to say it. 

Bruce looked down at his hands for a second. “We are not. And you know that, detective. We’ve been through too much together to be ever called strangers, but you have to realize that our lives are hugely different. I – after I found out who killed my parents, I felt at ease. Things are different now. I have closure,” he said, looking Jim straight in the eyes. 

“And spending two millions on an artifact is how you want to live your life now?” 

Bruce shrugged. Again Jim thought how wrong it seemed, how in between things. But maybe that was because Bruce was in between things. Leaving childhood behind, but not old enough to really call himself a man yet. 

“I'm still figuring myself out. I don't know who I want to be. Did you at my age?” 

Jim shook his head. “No, I only knew I wanted to help people. What do you want Bruce?”

“To live a bit, to try things out, have fun maybe. I didn't have fun in a long time.” 

Jim nodded, ate a forkful of his pie. It was understandable, but he had somehow expected – not better, because Bruce had been through enough, but more.  
On the other hand: most seventeen year old kids did not know what they wanted to do with their lives. It was hardly fair to expect Bruce to have all the answered now. Especially as he had no parents to guide him. Jim knew that Alfred did his best, but it wasn't the same. 

“Try to not get into too much trouble,” Jim said finishing his coffee. “Oswald is still a known criminal. A murderer. Still dangerous.” 

“Thank you for worrying about me,” Bruce said. 

Jim could hear loud and clear what he didn't say: but it's not necessary.  
Jim begged to differ.  
They said their goodbyes soon after and Jim drove home with the feeling that he had missed something, but he couldn't put his finger on it. 

~+~

“As if you didn’t have enough shit on your plate,” was the first thing Harvey said when Jim came into his office Monday morning. 

Jim did have enough shit on his plate and it didn’t help that the vigilante was crafty and the police force of Gotham was kind of his enemy right now. He raised his eyebrows at Harvey in a silent question. 

“Sit,” Harvey said, pouring them both coffee. 

Jim sat. “So? What is this about?” 

Harvey put a mug down in front of Jim and then sat at the edge of his desk. “Falcone’s daughter. Really?” 

Shit, Jim thought. “I –“

Harvey put up his hand to silence him. “Don’t even deny it. I know your type. That woman? So your type. But Jim, I say this as a friend, just don’t.” 

“Harvey-“

“Take some time off, figure your shit out. God, get a hooker if you need to blow off some steam-“

“You really shouldn’t encourage prostitution, as the police captain and all,” Jim cut in. 

“Well, sue me for being concerned about you. A hooker is still less dangerous and less messy than Falcone’s daughter. You have to know that.” 

Jim took a sip of his coffee, he knew that and he knew that Harvey was right. Not about the hookers, obviously, but about him figuring his shit out and staying away from a potentially messy and dangerous situation. His track record wasn’t too great when it came to women lately. 

“I know,” Jim said. 

“Good, and another thing. You will probably not like this either,” Harvey said, grabbing a file from his desk and handing it over to Jim. 

Jim put his coffee down and opened the file. Only one thing inside: a photo of Barbara. “She’s not dead.” 

“Love the hair,” Harvey said. “But that woman spells trouble. I’m not surprised either, that she isn’t dead. No one seems to stay dead in this city anymore.” He sighed. 

“Do we know what she’s up to?” Jim asked. 

“Nothing good,” Harvey replied, “That’s for sure. But no. Not yet.”

“I bet Penguin does,” Jim said. 

Harvey gave him a look. “Just stay away from him. One of these days he’s gonna snap and kill you.” 

It wasn’t in Jim’s nature to stand by idly while his city was going to shit and Harvey had to know that. 

“At least be careful and smart about it,” Harvey added after a pregnant silence. 

“Not the usual way I do things then?” Jim said with a grin. 

“Get out of my office, the less I know about this the better,” Harvey said. 

Jim took the coffee, but left the file, and went to his desk. 

~+~

He got a glimpse of the vigilante on Wednesday night. And like the idiot he was he ran after him. The guy was fast and he was using the rooftops rather than the streets to get around Gotham, which Jim had to admit was pretty smart.  
But he knew this city too, he cut the vigilante off in a narrow alley. 

“Not going to leave me a nice little gift this time?” Jim asked. 

The vigilante was a few feet away and the only way was up or through Jim and Jim wasn’t too sure he wanted to risk going toe to toe with this one. Even if he looked rather slim. But muscle wasn’t everything. This one would be agile and he was definitely smart. 

“I would have if you hadn’t interrupted my hunt, detective Gordon,” the man said. There was a drawl in his voice, that sounded fake. The voice was rather young, Jim thought. And he knew Jim. 

“Well, I don’t look favorably on vigilantism,” Jim said. 

The vigilante didn’t say anything for a long while. He just looked at Jim. “You will,” he replied eventually and then was up on the roof again and running and Jim cursed himself as he chased after him. Jim lost him five blocks later.  
Surprisingly he didn’t feel too bad about it. 

~+~

“You're making a habit of not calling ahead, detective Gordon,” Bruce said. He looked tired and there was a bruise on his cheek that looked fairly fresh. 

Jim reached out without thinking about it and ran his knuckles lightly over it. “What happened there?” 

Bruce stared at him. His eyes blue and wide and – something else. Something Jim didn’t know what to call or do with.  
Bruce shrugged and Jim snatched his hand away. It was just a short moment (Bruce’s hot, soft skin touching his), but it felt longer for some reason. 

“I got into a fight.” 

“How do you always end up in this kind of situations?” Jim asked. 

“What kind of situations?” Bruce replied, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Jim. 

“The dangerous kind.” 

“I imagine the same way you do,” Bruce said, and then uncurled from his protective, defensive stand. He cocked his head. “Do you want to come in? Or is this a on the spot check in and reprimand?” 

“I imagine there is coffee?” 

“You know there is, detective,” Bruce said. 

Jim wanted to tell him again, to call him Jim, but he didn’t. Just followed Bruce into the kitchen. He sat down at the table, watched Bruce’s fingers handle the complicated looking coffee machine. There were bruises on his knuckles too. From the same fight, Jim wondered. 

“Bruce,” Jim said once he had his coffee and Bruce’s undivided attention. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.” 

“This is a social call?” Bruce asked. He seemed surprised by it. 

“I am trying to do better,” Jim said and he meant it too. He was trying to get his life back together. To see who he was when he wasn’t trying to save the woman he loved from herself. 

“By coming over unannounced?” Bruce asked, but he was teasing. Which was new too. Bruce had never really teased before. Jim didn’t know what to do with this new side of Bruce for a second. “I might have been out, you know?”

“Rock climbing? Getting into fights?” Jim asked. 

Bruce’s face closed off. “I told you already, I can take care of myself.” 

“I worry about you.” 

“Why?” Bruce asked. 

That was a good question. Jim didn’t have a good answer. “Because I do.” 

Bruce sighed. “In a city like Gotham, it pays to be prepared. You know that Alfred coaches me in boxing?”

“Yes,” Jim answered. 

“I took up some other things as well,” Bruce allowed. 

“What about the rock climbing?” 

“That is mostly for fun,” Bruce answered with a small smile. “Have you been rock climbing, detective Gordon?” 

Jim shook his head. “No.” 

“Maybe you should. For a short time everything except what your body can do becomes irrelevant and once you’re up there, looking down at what you did – it’s-“

“A high?” Jim asked. 

“Yes, I think it is,” Bruce replied. 

“Did you take it up so you could stalk Selina Kyle on the rooftops of Gotham?” 

“No,” Bruce said. 

Jim sighed, it was like pulling teeth. He understood that Bruce was being cagey about his relationship with Selina, because she was becoming someone dangerous. Jim was keeping an eye on her too. 

“Bruce she’s dangerous too.” 

“I know that,” Bruce said, “And it’s not about Selina Kyle. Not everything is about women, detective.” 

“At your age, I thought almost everything would be about women.” 

Bruce looked at his hands and then at Jim, he studied Jim’s face for a moment. “It’s not only about women.” 

Jim nodded, finished his coffee and said his goodbyes, because he had a job to do and he would be late for his shift anyway.  
On the way to the precinct he was replaying the conversation with Bruce in his head. Especially the last part, something about the last part struck him as important. But once he got to his desk there was a robbery in progress and he was off again trying to save a city that seemed so determined to doom itself. 

~+~

Jim could admit if only to himself that he screwed up. He was outnumbered and there was no way in hell backup would be here any time soon – if they even deemed his call important enough to come.  
Jim was probably not going to die. Maybe. But he would get a few broken ribs, and a gun-wound if he was lucky. The bruises were already forming.  
And then suddenly they were two against five and not one against five and the other person was good. Fast, sneaky. Jim would stop to admire but he had his own goons to play with, so he concentrated on that. 

Once it was over and he was holding his rib, he didn't think it was broken, most likely only bruised, like his face, he looked up and saw the vigilante – more or less – clearly for the first time. He was wearing a mask. 

“Clever,” he said, pointing to his own face. 

“Thank you would be the appropriate thing to say in this kind of situation, detective Gordon.” 

Jim winced as he stood straighter. “Thank you.” 

“You're welcome. You need to take better care of yourself,” he added and then before Jim could even find words to reply, he was gone. 

The goons didn't have Penguin's license slips, which – thank god for small mercies, Jim thought and radioed the whole clusterfuck in. 

 

~Three~

“It’s one of those clubs,” Harvey said. 

“I thought you liked to investigate at one of those clubs,” Jim replied as they got out of the car. 

Harvey gave him a look. “It’s not my kind of those clubs.” 

Jim was about to ask what that even meant when he realized it. It was as strip club alright but not for straight men. “Ah,” Jim said. 

“It’s not that I care. I mean, whatever your dick gets off on, you know? It’s just not my thing and you’re right, I like to investigate the other kind of those clubs alright. This here…leaves me cold.” 

Jim grinned. “Well, at least you won’t be distracted while investigating.” 

Harvey just gave him the finger in answer. 

The club was like any other strip-joint Jim has ever been in for a case or otherwise. Low light, men, drinks, music, only the girls on stage weren’t girls.  
They made their way to the bar to ask about the manager. The barkeeper had a distinctive feminine touch and looked too young to be here. He was pretty in a way that contradicted gender. The nametag read ‘Kim’ which didn’t help in the slightest.  
Harvey stared for a second, before Jim nudged his ribs none too gently. 

“So, Kim,” Harvey said, leaning in, “We’re looking for your boss.” 

“Andrew is in the back. In his office,” Kim said, even the kid’s voice was genderless. It was clearly a mindfuck for Harvey. 

“You go talk to Andrew the boss, I’ll ask the staff some questions,” Jim said. 

“You’re not the boss of me,” Harvey grumbled, “I am the boss of you.” 

“That kid is jailbait, Harvey,” Jim stressed. “And probably has a cock,” he added in a whisper. 

Harvey made a face. “Fine.” 

“What did Andrew do?” Kim asked. 

“Nothing we know of, we’re looking for someone,” Jim replied. He took out the picture and showed it to Kim. Kim shook his head. 

“Never seen him here,” the boy said. 

“Mind if I ask around?” 

Kim smiled. “You’re a cop, this is Gotham…”

Which was very accurate, but Jim didn’t like it anyway. He nodded and started asking some of the other employees questions. He wondered why Harvey was taking so long and was about to see for himself when he glimpsed a familiar face. He followed, grabbed for the boy’s arm and was pressed against the dark wall a moment later. 

“No touching, don’t you know the rules, detective?” Bruce asked. His eyes looked even bluer and his lashes longer, because he was wearing make-up. His lips looked shiny and he smelled – different. His naked arm was pressed against Jim’s neck. 

“What are you doing here?” Jim hissed. 

“Having fun,” Bruce replied. He stepped away when Jim pushed slightly. His fingers brushing Bruce’s waist. 

“At a gay strip joint? Looking like this? What if someone took a picture, you want to see your face plastered on every gossip rag?”

“No one recognized me,” Bruce said, crossing his arms over his barely covered chest.

Jim was resolutely looking at Bruce’s face. “I recognized you.” 

“Your partner didn’t when he passed me on his way to the manager’s office,” Bruce said. 

Shit, Jim thought. He wasn’t here for Bruce and his – whatever this was: rebellion maybe. He was here for Harvey. “Where is the office?” He asked. 

“Third door on the right,” Bruce said, pointing. 

“You grab your things and get out of here, we’ll talk later,” Jim said and then he ran without waiting for a reply. 

Harvey was unconsciousness with a nasty bleeding cut on his head when Jim found him. He called an ambulance and searched the office in the meantime. There had to be something after all. 

~+~

It took them another week to close that case and once it was over, Jim grabbed his jacket and headed home. He hadn’t had time to talk to Bruce while the case had been hot, but he would do so the next day. Right now all he needed was some good whiskey and some sleep. 

_He was chasing the vigilante, he could hear him up ahead on the rooftops, but Jim knew this city too, because this was his city. He cut the vigilante off and grabbed his thin, but surprisingly muscular arm, spun the vigilante around. Was faced with big blue eyes, framed by dark lashes and a glossy mouth. The figure was clad in black leather, clinging to every curve and strangely genderless._

_The mouth smiled. “No touching, don’t you know the rules, detective?”_

_But Jim wasn’t letting go, he was leaning in and the mouth, so glossy, so inviting, was smiling bigger. His grip on the arm was getting bruising, but the vigilante was still smiling. Jim could see a bruise on his face. He leaned in and kissed the bruise and the vigilante gasped, moaned, grabbed Jim’s jacked, crumbled it between his gloved fingers. Jim was pressing closer, was pressing the vigilante against the nearest wall and he could feel heat now and hard planes, male, definitely male, but his lips tasted like peaches._  
_The vigilante was making those little gasping sounds like he was drowning or in pain, but he wasn’t pushing Jim away. His strong fingers were curling around Jim’s neck. His tongue was in Jim’s mouth._  
_“Rule breaker,” he said between kisses. Jim was hard and he needed -_

Jim woke up with a start to the alarm of his phone. His mind was halfway trapped in that dream still. Gotham by night, the vigilante, the rooftops, the peach lip-gloss. Those eyes. He’s seen those eyes before.  
The bruise. 

He blinked up at the ceiling, then turned to grab his phone and shut the alarm off, his dick welcoming the friction. He rolled onto his back again and just breathed. There were two options of course, jerk off or not jerk off. He let his fingers slide down his boxers, because really, what his mind did while he was sleeping wasn’t his fault.  
He didn’t think about anything as he curled his fingers around his cock and stroked himself to completion, then he got up, took a shower and went for his weekend run. 

His mind wasn’t calm as he ran. It was circling back to the dream, because obviously his brain had been chewing on it for a while: connecting dots Jim hadn’t been aware there even were to connect. 

“Rock climbing,” he said and stopped, put his hands on his thighs, breathed. Could it be? Was he going crazy?  
But then: Bruce’s arm against Jim’s neck, the intensity in his blue eyes. And shit, had he been dreaming about Bruce’s bruised face this morning?  
He needed coffee, a shower, to talk to Bruce Wayne again. He had wanted to talk to Bruce about his ideas of fun anyway. 

~+~  
“Detective Gordon,” Alfred said. 

Jim had half expected Bruce to open the door, but of course it would be Alfred. It was Alfred’s job. 

“Alfred,” Jim said, “Is Bruce available?” 

“You have perfect timing, detective,” Alfred said, “We were just starting breakfast.” 

Jim smiled. It was just after eleven. What had Bruce been doing all night to sleep in? More clubs? More rock climbing? More fights? More auctions? More dances with dangerous people? “I can come back later,” Jim offered, well knowing that Alfred would not hear any of it. 

“Nonsense, please come in an join us.” 

“Thank you,” Jim replied and made his way to the kitchen. By now he felt like he could make it in his sleep. 

“Detective Gordon, I am not surprised,” Bruce said. 

Jim smiled, took the offered hand into his, looked Bruce over. No fresh bruises he could see, it didn’t mean there weren’t any under his clothes. 

“Coffee?” Alfred asked. 

Jim nodded. He already had two cups, but he wasn’t going to turn this down. Breakfast was delicious and all about idle chatter. Jim didn’t know if Bruce was really interested in the topics they were discussing or if he was just trying to fill the silence. Maybe throw Jim off. He’s done it before.  
Bruce, Jim realized, was becoming a skilled conservationist. 

“But I imagine, you're not here for the idle talk, detective Gordon,” Bruce said, finishing his breakfast. Jim was already done and was having a second cup of the excellent coffee. 

“No, not really, but I am amazed how well you can fill the silence,” Jim said. 

For a second Bruce faltered and then he smiled. “Thank you.” 

Jim put his empty cup down and looked at Bruce. “I was wondering if you wanted to spar?” 

While Bruce had been chatting and probably assessing Jim, Jim had been doing the same, on a different level. And he was pretty sure that he would be able to tell if he could just get close enough. Could see what Bruce could do now. 

“Spar?” Bruce asked. 

Jim leaned back in his chair. “Yes, spar. I would feel better letting you have fun,” he said pointedly, “If I knew at what level your skills are.” 

Bruce seemed to consider it for a moment and then he nodded. “I think that yes, I can help ease your worry like this.” He stood up and Jim followed him. 

Jim wasn't surprised that Bruce Wayne had a fully equipped gym right at his home. “Nice,” Jim said. 

Bruce looked at him. “I think we should take off the shoes, your jacket?” 

Jim nodded, he didn't even know why the hell he was wearing the jacket, it wasn't like he was at work. But when he had decided to come here, he hadn't known that he would ask Bruce Wayne to spar with him.  
Bruce took off his shoes, socks and pullover, which left him in a snug t-shirt and pants. He looked young, but he also looked like he wanted to take Jim down. There were bruises on his arms, not as many as Jim had thought someone who was beating up criminals at night and jumping from rooftops would have. Maybe he had been wrong after all? 

“I'm not going to go easy on you, Bruce,” Jim said. 

Bruce grinned. “Likewise detective Gordon.” 

Jim stretched and looked around. Alfred was nowhere to be found again. The man must trust Jim to not hurt Bruce, Jim thought. Jim wasn't going to actually hurt Bruce Wayne, he was going to test the boy. Maybe confirm his suspicions too, two birds one stone.

“Shall we?” Bruce asked and he looked absolutely assured of himself. 

Jim was torn between being amazed and wanting to take him down a notch. “By all means, Bruce, show me what you've got,” Jim said. 

The game was on.  
Bruce was better than good, he was better than any average boy at his age who just dabbled in boxing and 'other things' should be. Jim didn't buy that Bruce hadn't been training for a few years. He was fast and crafty too. He looked for weaknesses, which was – surprising to Jim. He was actually sweating, they both were, and Bruce was smiling. With his eyes only, but it was there. Bruce was having fun.  
There was single-minded determination in his eyes, every move telegraphed that and only that. Jim wondered how good Bruce would be one day with training like this. If he should keep this up. 

“Too slow,” Bruce said, just a pant against Jim's ear, and then he was out of reach again, after he tapped Jim's back, just under his kidneys. 

It wasn't like Jim hadn't gotten any hits in, he had, but it was harder than he had thought it would be.  
And then Bruce swapped his legs from under him and Jim landed on his back on the practice mat hard, his back hurt, his hands were pinned to the ground, Bruce's face was above him. 

“Tap the mat, detective Gordon,” Bruce said. His eyes were smiling and his body was warm, hot really, where it was pressed against Jim's and his lashes were long, his skin soft looking and so close Jim could smell him.  
And Jim's been here before, countless times, pinned down playfully with a beautiful light body pressed against his. He licked his lips and Bruce's eyes flickered to his mouth. And that comment from weeks ago came back to Jim. 

“You haven't won yet,” Jim said and surged up to press his lips against Bruce's. 

Bruce gasped, his fingers sized around Jim's wrist and Jim was sure he would let go, but they tightened a second later and Bruce was pressing down, in, and kissing him back. 

When Bruce broke the kiss, so they could breathe, he leaned back, letting go of Jim slowly. “I think I have.” 

And Jim had to give him that one. He tapped the mat. 

Bruce was about to get up, but Jim grabbed his wrist and pulled him against his body. “Why did you kiss me?”

“Why did you?” Bruce asked. His lips were shiny and just there. Inviting really. And he was pressed against Jim just the right way, so Jim could feel his cock getting hard. 

“To distract you,” Jim said. 

Bruce's lips thinned. “I see.” 

Jim grabbed his neck and crashed their mouths together again. “But not this time,” he said, “This is because I wanted to.” 

Bruce wriggled and sat up, scooted closer, so his cock was touching Jim's. “What else do you want?” 

“Hell,” Jim said. 

Bruce laughed, letting his free hand roam over Jim's torso. Jim had his own fingers still curled around Bruce's other hand. The bones of his wrist seemed fragile under Jim's touch. “So? Detective Gordon? Did you made your mind up?”

He did, he probably shouldn't be doing any of this, but hell. It wasn't like he was seducing a minor. Bruce was past the age of consent and he could clearly take care of himself. Jim kissed him again in answer. 

~+~  
Jim wasn't staying, after he took a shower. He was tempted to kiss Bruce again, press him against the nearest flat surface and have his way with him, but he wanted to go slow too. He had no idea what Bruce did or didn't do with other people. God knew Jim hadn't had game until he had been twenty. He ran a had through his hair. “This wasn't the smartest thing I did today.”

Bruce smiled. “But you don't regret it.” 

Jim didn't, because watching Bruce stroke their cocks, his pale, slender, firm fingers moving up and down their shafts – shit it was going to star in his jerk off fantasies from now on. And Bruce's face, his eyes, so intend, until he felt overwhelmed by his orgasm and closed them, biting his lip as he spilled against Jim's cock and over his fingers. Panting Jim's name into Jim's shoulder as he stroked Jim to completion. 

“No,” Jim said. 

“You want to do it again, Jim?” Bruce asked. 

“Yes,” Jim said. 

Bruce leaned in then and kissed him. “You know where I live.” 

Jim nodded. He needed to leave, he needed to leave now, before he let Bruce drag him back to the gym or worse the bedroom upstairs.  
“Be careful,” Jim said, stroking Bruce's cheek where the bruise used to be. 

“Right back at you,” Bruce replied. 

Jim put on his coat and left the manor. He was very aware that this didn't count as figuring his shit out, and he was also very aware that messing around with Bruce Wayne was no less dangerous than messing around with Falcone's daughter would be. Hell...this was probably worse, but he also knew that Bruce would have his back. Always, because they both wanted to save this city.  
That had to count for something.  
The rest he would figure out.


End file.
